The Hunger Games: Peeta's POV
by peenisseverlark
Summary: Whether it's been done yet or not, each chapter will be rewritten in Peeta's point of view. How did the boy with the bread deal with it all?
1. Chapter 1

When I wake up, I can already hear the yelling from the kitchen. My mother's voice resounds in the bakery, yelling at my father about his incessant need for squirrel meat, how he needed to polish up the place and prepare himself for today. Of course he would need to. Today was the day of reaping.

Wiping away the last remnants of sleep from my eyes, I saunter over to the kitchen, she was still babbling along until I manage to pick up a bag of flour and smash it down as hard as I can, creating a flurry of white dust in the air. She's dumbfounded at first, until she finds my face once the dust clears. She doesn't say a word, but in her eyes I know she wants to scream, but because today is the day it is, she bites her tongue.

"Clean it up Peeta, we're due to deliver to the Mayor Undersee soon." She mutters, huffing away back to her room.

Walking over to the small closet, I take a calm breath, and nod over to my father. He's never been too good with words, so we go along the rest of morning, cleaning, baking, and leaving the words that need to go unsaid. He never questions what may happen if my name is ever chosen for the reaping. My chances were probably far greater than any boy in the District. When I was of age to sign up in the Justice Building for tessarae, I had to against my own will. My mother being the woman that she was, needed more, she couldn't live off of stale bread, she needed sustenance and we needed to scrap off what we could to get by in the Seam in order to fulfill that duty. Every year then on, including my passing 16th birthday, I've signed for the extra tessarae, and carried the bags over my own shoulders. What a burden it was indeed.

I clear my throat as I take a look at my father, he looks up, staring at me with the familiar blue hues that I had come to inherit.

"Everything's clean." I say, "And the next batch of bread should be done in 10 minutes. Are you coming with me to the Mayor's?"

He shakes his head and walks over to me, patting me on the shoulder. "I think you're old enough to carry on, on your own." He says.

I don't understand the connotation but I take it for what it is, I have to carry on. Walking away from the kitchen and back into the room, my bed that I left disheveled is already made up, and on top is the finest suit I've ever seen. I touch the black material, not too sure what it is, it felt soft but ragged at the edges, a little worn, so I assume it must have come from my father, but with careful examination I can see intricate stitching that folds onto extra cloth. It must have been fitted just for me. Taking off the brown cotton pants and white over shirt, I throw on the ensemble, from the black slacks to the light pastel oriented button up. The cuffs are a bit difficult to get on, until my mother walks in silently and fixes them up for me. The next movement is to secure a black tie around my neck, it feels more like a noose more than anything else.

When she's finished, she flips me around and makes me turn to the mirror, preparing to grab a little water to wet the edges of my hair.

"Don't slick it back." I warn her."

"You'll look more like a presentable boy that way Peeta, you are going to the Mayor's after all." She replies swiftly.

Any emotion out of the woman that wasn't anger simply died the minute she tries to exude it. It feels like staring at a mechanical statue, something that's always stuck perpetually because that's how the artist has molded them out to be. In my mother's case, I can't figure out who or what created her into being who she was. Or how my father even found it endearing.

After a few more spats of whether or not to slick the hair back, I end up winning, with a simple comb over that seems to please her. Putting on some hand me down black polished shoes, she secures a lily to my front pocket and sends me off with the order for the Mayor.

It's a whole other world when I step out from the bakery. A world I haven't figured out fully and yet I should know after the years I've spent living in here. District 12.

Land of the coal.

Land of those dying in poverty.

Land of the truly hungry.

I catch my reflection from one of the market place stops that sells mirrors and come to despise the person looking back. He isn't who I am. But what am I to begin with? Sighing, I managed to rush my hands through the watered down mess that becomes my hair and keep walking with the satchel of bread over my shoulder. I'm not very well known in the Seam as anything else but the Bakers son. I'm humbled by it, since it gives me solitude. But even solitude gets the best of us all. The mayors house is a little well off better than most of the houses in the Seam. It looks cleaner to say the least. Heading over to the front door, I press a button that lets out a symphony of sound ring through the house, I can hear it from the open windows. We don't have the luxury of door bells in the bakery, the best we could do was hanging a bell on a string to go off every time someone opens the door.

The doors open and on the other side is Madge Undersee. She holds up a finger for me to wait as a maid rushes down the stairs after her.

"You're not proper right now Miss. Undersee! Honestly!"

"Grab me my robe and I will be. A friend is at the door." She says simple.

The maid rushes away in a huff, almost flabbergasted that she's opened the door in simple clothes, just a regular brown dress. Madge smiles points to the satchel.

"Are the good breads and cookies inside?" She asks me, as she takes out a small coin purse, digging through for the payment.

"Just like your father always asks for." I say politely.

Madge and I have always been able to have conversations freely. She normally initiates them and I go along with it. She understands in a way what it's like to be a loner outside of school and inside rather. I'm suddenly feeling misconstrued about this talk of loneliness. I had friends, I did, but they were around me because boys will boys, if that's how the saying goes. None of them ever wanted to talk about real ground breaking issues, everything was just simple for them. Why couldn't I be as simple?

"Peeta?" Madge interrupts, holding out the coins for me to take. "This'll be enough right?"

Breaking away from my reverie, I nod, and take the money, tucking it into the now empty satchel as she takes the goods and hands it over to another servant who's called upon.

"More than enough actually, Madge." I say carefully. "It seems like way too much."

She presses her pointer finger to her own lips and shakes her head. "Consider it a gift, as good luck. For the reaping."

"And what am I going to do with the extra money?" I joke.

"Save it. Use it for something useful. Maybe for her." She says simple.

I look at the blonde in front of me, the knowing smirk growing on her lips as I stand dumbfounded. She couldn't be talking about…

No, of course not. She couldn't be.

"You should be on your way now Peeta, I'll see you at the reaping?" She says.

"Of course Madge." I reply, waving off to her, digging my hands into the pant pockets as I stride off back over to the bakery.

Is it ridiculous to be dressed this early for the reaping? Perhaps. All I really want to do is just keep my hands busy to keep my mind from wandering. The reaping being today has put the District on edge. Who will be next? How many lives would we have to come to know briefly under the watchful eyes of the Capitol? How many would we have to say goodbye to? What classmate will we have to watch die as the Careers take their ends off?

Walking back, people are scrambling in the square to take their bets already. It's unnerving how there's absolutely no faith in any of the potential contenders here, but who could blame them? Districts 1, 2, and 4 are all better off then most of the children here. Frail, thin as a bone, and practically no strength. I had the luck of having to gain strength from chucking bags of flour everywhere, but I couldn't take that skill seriously could I?

Getting over to the bakery again, my mother is perched near the front window, she usually isn't there unless my father has made up some sort of lie for her to check on something to do an underground deal to trade for something in the back. To help the old man, I go ahead and walk up towards her, trying to see what lie she's been fed today.

"Peeta, have you seen the pigs?" She asks.

I shake my head. "No…not around this area, they should be fenced in already."

"Your father told me, they're the ones coming over to this window and taking the fresh bread right from us. They come to the side and slam their bodies to the wall, sending the bread down and eating up what's good money." She says, eyeing over to the pen.

"Right. Well, mom," I begin, seeing my father appearing back in the kitchen, the coast already clear. "I'll make sure to look out for it. "How about lunch before we head off to the square, we should get there early."

The meal is simple. Pumpernickel bread with a smooth cheese I can't get the name of for the life of me. But my father trades for it, supposedly it comes from a goat. We sit at the table in silence, my mother doesn't touch her plate and goes back to picking at my hair and wiping away flour dust that catches onto the fabric of the suit.

"Remember to stand proud and tall today Peeta, just incase you catch on camera."

Was vanity and money all that mattered to this woman?

I nod my head in agreement, biting my tongue to hold back the words I wanted to say. But she was right, image was everything and everyone would be watching all over Panem.

Panem, the only country left, if you could call it that. Ruled by the most insidious monster, President Snow. The reaping today would choose two children to be sent off away from the district, potentially forever to fight for the death. And for what cause, because a rebellion happened so many years ago, that it's now become an alarming message to us all, _if you rebel we take your children, you watch as they die for your mistakes. _Suddenly, I'm not so hungry anymore, the bread taste stale, the cheese spread sour. Water doesn't make the taste disappear.

When the meal commences, I get up and go back to my room to lay in bed for the remaining half hour before heading to the square. Everything in the room, I may have to leave behind. The chances of it are great as I'm entered into the bowl at least 20+ times. A soft knock on my door, and the grim look on my father's face that greets me tells me its time to head to the square. I take in a breath and hold my head high as I walk with my parents to the square. We're greeted by neighbors and some friends that are accustomed to my mother. A few pats on my shoulders and a kiss of luck from some of the women, and I'm ushered off to the different sections where they keep the potential tributes, almost like cattle. The screens surrounding the square are out of this world, something we never usually see, and something so foreign at the same time. The cameras turn on, the lights gleam up, and suddenly shots of the children, of the crowd, and the sign of Panem comes up.

It's such a shame that the square is subjected to this Russian roulette of death. This is the place where the children were running around and people were shopping not too long ago, and now it's place of remembrance to remember who would be walking to their death on that dreadful stage. The space becomes more cramped as more children and parents try to flock to be in the same general area, some are ushered to a different part of the Seam to view the drawing from a different screen. I can't help but thinking I just want to get this over with.

Let me get back to the same life I've been in these past few years. Learning about a history that I can't change. Baking bread to try to help feed those who need it. Can't I go back to the fresh smell of bread, go back to making cakes, learning about different usages of frosting?

My thoughts are broken against as two school mates show up by my side, we don't speak, just simple nod to give our version of "Good luck, hope your name isn't chosen." One of the boys point to the stage where two of three seats are taken up, one by Mayor Undersee and the other by a mousy looking woman with vibrant pink hair in a suit of green that looks like a shade of paste I would find to brush my teeth. It's almost laughable how animated she's trying to look. I swear the Capitol tries so hard to gain a sense of fashion I will never understand. She looks nervously at the third seat and we all know who it belongs to. The only victor alive from District 12, Haymitch Abernathy. The clock strikes two and there's no use of waiting any longer, as Mayor Undersee steps up to the podium to relay the same speech he always does when it comes to reaping day.

He tells the story of Panem, how the country washed away and burned, rising from the residue to become what it has become leaving behind it's former self North America. He lists the terrible natural disasters from the fires, the droughts, to the storms of strong magnitudes that literally wiped out a majority of the world, but left us in our 13 district glory. We were thought to be peaceful after surviving, until the Dark Days came about. Twelve districts submitted to utter tyranny while the thirteenth district was destroyed completely. A Treaty of Treason then came to rise to give us the darkest law of all, to be held every year as a reminder of the consequences we must take in for the rebellion. Thus the birth of the Hunger games came to be.

The rules are simple enough to follow. Every district must give up a tribute, one female, one male. This gives us 24 tributes in all. If their name is drawn they are taken from their district to the Capitol. They're given a taste of life outside of living in poverty, trained to kill, and then thrown off to whatever arena the Gamemakers find suit. The last tribute standing wins a life of luxury and glory thereafter for their District until next years reaping when the cycle continues.

It's almost a stab in the back each time. The Capitol clearly taunts us with the loss and the misery, we're all just pawns. The bitter taste comes back in my mouth and I can't do anything but swallow it back down as Mayor Undersee finishes his speech, a round of applauds comes, and then a pause as he holds his hand up for silence. He takes out a very pitiful piece of paper to name off the winning tributes. We've only had two in our time, with one still very much alive. When his name is called, a disheveled man stumbles onto the stage with a bottle in his hand. Haymitch Abernathy in all his drunken glory. He's saying something under his breath unintelligible, slurring his words together. He's beyond intoxicated at this point and it shows. He slumps over to Effie Trinket, messing with her equilibrium and nearly knocking her down, I notice there's a shift of her wig as it rises to the side towards the right. I can't help but smile.

Mayor Undersee doesn't look very amused.

I'm sure he's worried about how laughable District 12 must look to have a slob of a middle aged man like Haymitch as our only victor so far. The bets would never be in our favor at this point. He clears his throat and overpowers Haymitch's ranting and raving by having some patrons seat Haymitch at his chair and introduces Effie. She straightens out her suit and puts on her brightest smile, her accent resounding from the microphone. It's high pitched and each inflection doesn't sound normal. It's almost as if she's yipping like a poodle but singing like a failed opera star.

"Happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favor!" She spouts out, cheerily looking through each section.

I look around towards the crowd, no one reciprocates a smile to her, each person looks to be in fear or stone faced from emotion. She continues then about how proud she is to be working for this district, though something tells me even with her quirky and weird inflections, that's a complete and total lie, and that it is an honor to once again be announcing who will enter the arena and hopefully bring glory to District 12. Two glass balls are brought to the stage. She smiles broadly and claps excitedly as she steps back for the workers to take the podium to move to the side of the glass balls.

"It's time to choose the tributes." She chimes in, "Of course it'll have to be ladies first."

Her hands fish into the bowl, her face becoming a playful spout of wonder as she takes a slip in her hands. Pulling the slip of paper into her hands, the air suddenly grows tense and tight as the crowd draws a collective breath together.

Effie moves back to the podium, unraveling the piece of paper, in a clear voice, she further stuns us all when she says the first name, "Primrose Everdeen."


	2. Chapter 2

Have you ever heard a silence so broad that it makes it seem like ime has just completely stopped in its tracks? Nothing can move or change and the moment is frozen in this place. At least that's how I feel. This silence is ironically deafening, not a single shuffle is heard, not a breath, and if it were possible to hear someone blink, I doubt anyone is right now, as the name resounds and sits in our thoughts. _Primrose Everdeen_. Hadn't she just turned of eligible age for this reaping?

One slip amongst thousands, and hers was taken up and clutched onto by Death.

The crowd begins to murmur softly to each other, looks of remorse filing on their facial expression. I clench my fists together. It's now grown hard to swallow. She's only 12. 12 and already has a death sentence to her head. Actually, that isn't true. The moment she was born at the Seam, death was waiting. The girls from her section move from side to side. They all honestly look completely petrified as if she had just become a plagued being. The little girl with blonde hair, Prim, wearing an ensemble obviously too big for her, a plague? That was just too impossible to even put together rationally. She stiffly moves, trying to keep her skirt up, and as I watch her walk up towards the stage, there's a ruffle coming out from behind, oddly mirroring a duck tail. She barely makes it to the top when a strangled scream comes out.

"Prim!" A familiar voice yells out.

Suddenly the blood in my veins freezes. Is it her voice? It can't be.

"Prim!" She yells out again. The girl I've seen so many times before in town, the girl I kept tabs on. The girl who probably didn't know my name, she's calling out for her sister. Of course Katniss would be calling out for Prim. They were sisters. She was her protector. No other voice could sound so demanding, strong, and eerily beautiful. Her strong, fearless demeanor continues to show as the section moves out of her way, her command completely passionate as she reaches and pushes Prim with one fell swoop of her arm behind her. What is she doing?

"I volunteer." She says, with a gasp. "I volunteer as tribute!"

The crowd is stunned, the murmuring growing louder, mimicking the sound of a swarm of bees. She can't be serious. I take one step forward in my section, and suddenly feel helpless. Would I have the gall to volunteer for this girl? The girl who commanded everything with an air I couldn't even dream of touching. This girl dressed in the blue, her hair in an intricate braid, with the olive skin. This girl, who at the moment I cannot deter my eyes from. This girl who I realize has just volunteered to take her sisters place, to take on death. Prim is gripping onto Katniss' arm, pleading with her now not to take it, her cries begin to fill the entire space. Effie looks puzzled for a moment before she recuperates and turns back to the crowd.  
>"Lovely!" She begins, before turning back to Katniss, a quizzical look consuming her again. "But I believe there is small matter of introducing the tribute and then asking for any volunteers to take their place. And if one does come forth , then we um…" The woman is clearly unsure of what to do.<p>

The idea of volunteering is so rare that even the crowd is puzzled. Does it happen this way?

Mayor Undersee takes a step up behind Effie and shakes his head. "What does it matter?"

He's now locking eyes with Katniss, the look on his face impenetrable. Is it of regret? Sadness that he can't change the rules of the games? As I remembered currently, he traded with Katniss and her bearings, or so Madge tells me. She always managed to bring him strawberries whenever they were in season. He keeps this gaze on her for a few moments longer before clearing his throat, the same strangled gruff sound coming out. "What does it matter? Let her come forward."

Prim has now gone into hysterics as the tiny girl wraps her arms around Katniss' waist. She's crying out her name, telling her no repeatedly, holding on to her as if this plea will be enough to have a Capitol voice ring over our heads and tell us it's too much, they couldn't possibly tear them apart. But the voice never comes. Katniss turns to the little girl stoic, and tells her firmly if not with a bit of brashness to let go. She doesn't comply, and now she is trying to pry the little girl away from her. A male, with dark hair and the same skin tone as Katniss goes up and swiftly gets Prim to unclasp her grip around her.

"NO GALE, LET ME GO!" Prim cries out.

No matter how much poor little Prim writhes and screams, clutching at the air to try to claw her way back to Katniss, the efforts are futile. Gale keeps a strong grip on Prim. He utters something to Katniss that I can't make out, and as they release from eye contact she turns back to the stage. She's become emotionless as she makes her way to Effie Trinket.

"And what's your name?" Effie asks.

"Katniss Everdeen." She replies hoarsely.

"Bravo!" Effie says, literally brimming with excitement. This turn of events must either be great publicity or she's gone mental with thinking anything like this would be acceptable. "I bet my buttons that's your sister isn't it? Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we?" Come on everyone! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!" She chimes in brightly.

Effie turns Katniss around to face the crowd, I look up to the screen and see her face is null from emotion. I'm waiting to hear applauds but nothing comes, just silence again, But this time something else is stirring. No one claps, not even the ones who had hastily posted their bets into the square before. A tap on my shoulder alerts me to a wave that is forming from section to section.

"Put your three middle fingers on your left hand up and hold them your lips." A voice says beside me

"What for?" I ask quietly.

"It's a sign, of respect. For her." They reply.

I turn and look and one by one nearly everyone is doing this cast off. It's a symbol I vaguely know, but if it's to give our respects, to make some form of a connection with this girl, I will gladly do it. Hesitantly, I look at her face, a brief glimmer of emotion strikes her. Whatever this motion means, it must be something that hits home. Holding my three middle fingers to my lips, I whisper her name softly, they land on the pads of my finger tips and I only wish they could land into her hearing. I am rooting for her, and for some reason I am desperate at this point to see that she makes it back alive.

After a few brief moments, Haymitch stumbles over to her, slinging his arm around her. A look of disgust has crossed over as Haymitch spouts on about how she has spunk, how he likes how she volunteered, how she is much more admirable than the lot of us. He says this last stint and points to a camera, I'm unsure if his mental capacity is sending a message to us as a District or to the Capitol as a whole. But just as we think he has more to say, Haymitch plummets off the stage, face down. Katniss regains her composure, staring off into space. And as Haymitch is whisked away on a stretcher, Effie gets things started again. We have the female tribute, now what's left is the male. She makes her way back to the glass balls and takes out a slip making her way back to the podium. She takes her sweet time to smooth out the paper before uttering, "Peeta Mellark!"

My name.

I have been called to the stage.

I am the male tribute.

Without a word or a flinch to the boys surrounding me in the section, I make my way towards the stage. I make eye contact with Katniss, but nothing passes, it's just a simple glance. Every cell in my body is screaming as I come to the realization even further now that I am walking to my death. I take my place beside her, keeping my hands clasped together behind my back. I try to feign the same emotionless look as Katniss is but I feel I am failing as I look up to the screen. I am bewildered. I feel as if someone has knocked out a major piece of my brain out. What do I do? Effie swiftly asks for any volunteers. There is only silence. No one steps up for the Bakers son. No sibling of mine can because they are not of age nor would I want them to volunteer. And the heightened spark in my mind tells me they probably wouldn't.

No other family can show as much devotion as the Everdeen's possess.

Mayor Undersee goes behind the podium. The air between myself and Katniss feels electrified. I want to embrace her, but I can't. I want to tell her, with these odds turning us against each other, I have no wish to end her life. Now that I'm here, I have my wish. I can protect her, I can save her from death for as long as I can with my own life. He rambles on about the treaty, and the words blur together. In my mind I'm battling with myself about these feelings that seem to flare whenever she is near. What is it about her that makes me want to sacrifice everything?

I stare off to see the horizon of the skies right near the fences that gate us in District 12. The clouds seem to gray out the sky, it reminds me of rain.

Rain. It rained very hard, the day I wanted to save her the most.

She must have been at her absolute low. It was the day I saw her digging in through the bakery garbage, I'm assuming to find scraps to get by. Word had gotten around the Seam about her fathers death at the coal mines, and without her father to support herself, the mother, and Prim, I couldn't imagine what it must have been like to slowly ebb away in your own skin. She looked too frail, and wild almost like an animal trying so hard to survive. I couldn't bare it. This girl with such a lovely voice, who commanded the very air around her, she shouldn't have to live this way. I'm staring for far too long I suppose, as it gives away her snooping. My mother goes out with a rolling pin, screaming her head off at her.

"Get away there's nothing in there for you!" She screams.

Getting back into the bakery she mutters under her breath about good for nothing seam kids trying to scrap by on our crumbs when we were suffering. Which wasn't entirely true. We ran a bakery, we baked bread for consumption and for sale. The only thing my mother must have been bitter about was the fact we couldn't afford fine meats or fruits, even cheeses or wine, not like the Mayor could. I look out the window and find the yelling must have broken her spirit.

Katniss takes a seat by the pig pens, it's raining terribly and the only cover she has is a leather jacket that looks too big to suit her. My mother's ramblings are still going on in my head as I watch Katniss look so forlorn. What can I do to help her? I had to think quickly

"Let them call the Peacekeepers, send those Seam kids to community homes, they can rot together in there." She huffs.

The comment infuriates me more than it should and as I stare at the nob of the oven, I ignite it to a temperature that causes the flame of the oven to scorch the bread currently cooking in the oven. She realizes this and in one motion she corrals over to me, knocking down pans and pots and ingredients in her wake and slams down on my face hard with the rolling pin.

Instinctively I turn away and go straight for the bread, taking it into my arms. It burns and it's an uncomfortable feeling on the forearms but I take them and I run straight towards the pen. I don't look her way as I scramble to make the bread still eatable. The scorched marks I can feed the pigs, she needn't eat blackened and hollow bread.

"FEED IT TO THE PIG, YOU STUPID CREATURE. NO ONE DECENT WILL BUY BURNED BREAD." My mother bellows from the window, before rushing back in as the bell of the bakery door rings, a new customer has just entered there's no doubt about that.

Once I finish tearing the parts that are no longer edible at least for a human, I take a look back to the window to make sure my mother isn't in view of what I will do next. I throw a loaf towards her feet. She stares at the loaf and back at me incredulously. I do the same motions again as I throw the second loaf and quickly run back into the bakery. My mother seats me back at the table to knead dough for the next batch of bread.

"Don't burn this batch boy, or I swear to you." She threatens as she raises the rolling pin.

I think she expects me to flinch, but when I don't it sends her in a huff, a sort of daze that it's left me unaffected. I nod to her as she turns her back on me to help more customers. I look out towards the window and I see her staring at the breads and back at the bakery. _Just take it, please. You're starving and I can't watch it any longer_, I think. I watch as the confusion turns into a resolution on her face. She opens up the leather jacket and stuffs a loaf into the right side and the other loaf into her left, she takes a final glance back to the bakery, I could swear that she has said thank you before running off, faster than I've ever seen anyone run.

When the customers leave, a stinging pain starts to seize my face. I want to grab something cold to hold against it, but we've got nothing to give it relieve. I settle for some water, and more scolding. It seems my mother has forgotten that she is the one who has hit me this hard with a rolling pin, to cause my skin to gorge and rise up, enough to even blacken the edges of the eye that has the unfortunate joy of being near where the bruises start to form.

During the night, I toss and turn in bed, hoping Katniss has made back safely to her home, that the bread had not been too far gone that she couldn't eat it. I hoped that her stomach would be full for the first time in months. I hoped that she would be happy.

The next day in school, I take the sparring from my friends who ask where I've gotten my new shiner. I tell them I tripped over a bag of flour right onto a pot that had been turned with its bottom up. They laugh it off and go about heckling me. It's a lot better than explaining the latter anyways. During the school day, I feel invigorated as I see the little girl Prim skipping along to her class. I overhear a conversation she has with a friend, explaining how she hasn't felt full in months, but last night was a feast that must have been brought on by someone very special. She had explained that for the first time she finally ate with her family again instead of alone at the table. She spoke about the delicious raisins inside the bread and how Katniss let her have seconds. The pure joy Prim spoke about made me feel it was well worth it to receive the welt I had on my face, knowing that I helped feed this family, bringing back together, it was more than I could have hoped for.

But I couldn't help but wonder if Katniss was just as appreciative. And just as if she knew I had been thinking about her, she comes striding in, looking a lot better than the sobbing mess I watched cry in defeat in the rain near the pig troughs. She had straightened up and had a look of determination on her face, but when she got to Prim, it softened, looking of nothing else but joy and love. She takes Prim's hand in hers as they walk away from the school. My friends ramble on about something I don't care for, my attention fixated on Katniss and Prim walking along, the fence of the school now separating me from a clear view.

Then it happens.

My eyes are locked on hers, if only for the briefest moment, and it's enough for me to know she is grateful. Sheepishly I turn my gaze away and back to the friends surrounding me. My mind is spinning at this point as I think about the girl again, and the way she had looked in my direction. I shouldn't have looked away. I give a silent thanks that I had managed to help her in someway, and make it a goal to continue to do so whenever and if ever she should ever come near the bakery in dire need.

Coming back from the memory, Mayor Undersee clears his throat, finishing off the last of the dreary treaty of treason. The treaty that has now put me alongside Katniss and has stamped a seal of death on our heads. He motions for myself and Katniss to face each other, implying we should shake hands. I turn to face her, keeping my eyes locked on hers. She raises her hand delicately, my hand moves at the same pace as hers and within seconds they're clasped together. I don't know why, but I cling on with a reassuring squeeze to her delicate hand.

The resolution of protecting her even stronger in my mind.

_I will not watch Katniss Everdeen die. _

We turn back to the crowd and the blaring sounds of the Panem anthem drones on as the final seal and closing to this reaping.

There will be twenty four of us fighting to the death. Two of them will be myself and Katniss. The odds have been tampered with, and yet has given me an unfavorable yet favorable choice.

Fight to the death, keep the girl alive.

_May the odds be ever in my favor, indeed._


	3. Chapter 3

As the anthem comes to an end, I peer at the screen that seems to scour over District 12. All of the cameras have focused on myself and Katniss, the two newest tributes set for the battle to the death. The silence stretches out across the crowd. I can swear they're all putting up the same three middle finger symbol up for Katniss again, but I never see if it's real or just a distinct fantasy. Before we know it, the Peacekeepers come and whisk us away from the stage. The walk from the square to the Justice Building feels like I'm walking on coals. Painfully but it can't be helped.

Entering the building, we're parted after entering the lobby, Katniss disappears to the right and I'm taken to the left.

"Where are you taking her?" I ask one of the Peacekeepers, but they stay completely silent keeping mum on what's to come, until they open the doors to one of the lavish rooms of the building.

"Each tribute will receive one hour to say goodbye to their loved ones, or anyone for the matter who wants to show up to say goodbye." One of them tells me.

Looking back over at the Peacekeepers, I nod and hear an audible shut of the chamber door.

I feel like the newest guinea, now that I've been thrown into this reaping. I want to sink down to my knees, try to focus on anything but the situation at hand now, but I can't afford to. Walking around the plush room, I look at the finer carpeting, note the golden trimmings. I see a couch in the center of the room and rush my finger tips against it. It's soft and rugged, and pinching the cushion slightly makes it expand quickly out. The simpler physics take control of my thoughts before the doors open again and my mother strides in with my younger brother, Pandoro, and my older brother, Puran.

Puran looks at me solemnly, trying to find words of encouragement but I know it fails him. He sighs and ruffles his own golden locks out of his eyes as he takes a seat next to me.

"Pando won't be too pleased that you won't be able to teach him primary and secondary colors." He murmured.

Pandoro seats himself near my knees and places him head down on them, latching his arms around my leg. He's much younger than Prim, barely turning 9. His curly blonde hair sweeps across his blue eyes as he looks up at him and takes my hand.

"Peeta say you'll win, so you can teach me to paint." He says feebly, his tiny voice cracking.

It's enough to pull at my heart strings, but I can't bring myself to promise him my return. Mainly because I know I won't be returning. I scoop Pandoro up in my arms and cradle him close.

"Just remember, that when you look up to the skies, and you see a ray of colors, which color will resemble me?" I ask.

"Ora-orange." He replies.

We sit in silence for a few moments as Pandoro clings on to my suit jacket. Puran has nothing left to say, though it would have helped to hear anything coming from him that went along the lines of "If I were younger I'd volunteer" or "Stay alive fight proudly and come home." But not another word comes out. My mother has stood at the end of the couch still stoic. Not an ounce of sorrow has made it to her face, but she keeps her lips pursed together as if she's just tasted a sour lemon.

Puran takes her locked gaze on me as a sign to take Pandoro away from my lap for a moment. I clear my throat and look at her waiting for her to stride over and possibly try to make amends. Seeing as her middle child is heading into the arena with no chase of returning, you would think she'd want a peace of mind to know she and I had no ended with bad ties. But instead she looks at me and shakes her head.

"Well that's one less pair of hands to help around the shop." She says coolly. "I don't understand why this should happen to me. I've never done a single thing wrong. I raised a family in the merchant area. I made my dues to get by with your father." She rambles on.

"For gods sakes Mother, Peeta's going to be a tribute in these stupid games and his life is on the line here and all you can think about yourself?" Puran says vehemently, each word clearly making a dent on her stone cold face as she seems to flinch at the words, trying to repel them back.

She's collected and calm at first, until a small wisp of air escapes the cracks of her lips. And that's when I see the tears that are forming in her gray eyes. I'm not sure why they're there, but in one grand movement she makes her way over to me to hold me close. She's shaking hard, and I can think of nothing else to do but bring my hands up to pat her gently on the back as she sobs. I don't expect words of encouragement from my mother as she cries. This breakdown that my mother is never prone to, at least not in front of us anyway, is the most vulnerable I have ever seen her.

This break down also reveals to me however that she has no faith that I will return. Which she has a right to feel this way, if I'm going to try my best to protect Katniss for as long as I can, even if it does kill me.

Pandoro manages to squeeze his way back into the embrace and clutches on myself and my mother, joining in on the sorrow. The tears are too much to bear. Puran awkwardly stands up and goes onto the other side, to place a hand on my shoulder. He alternates between patting and squeezing my shoulders.

The opening of the chamber doors alarms us. My mother attempts to compose herself, Pandoro is in hysterics, and Puran's mouth has formed a straight line across.

"Time is up." The Peacekeepers say.

My mother is the first to walk away. She takes one last glance at me, wipes away the last of her tears and turns away from me, not looking back as she exits the room. Puran tries to take Pandoro's hand but he refuses. I calmly look at the little boy in front of me and hug him close.

"Remember to find the orange in the sky, especially in the sun when the day is sinking under to make way for the milky moon." I whisper to him, "And you will never be without me."

Puran finally gets a firm grasp on Pandoro's hand, I whisper to them both that I love them. Puran nods and Pandoro cries it back to me, wanting to kick and thrash his way out of the room as he tells Puran to let go. The doors close again and they're gone.

That will be the last time I ever see my mother and my brothers.

I lay my head on the arm of the couch, taking in the soft feel of it, looking at the patterns and trying to block out any thoughts, when the door opens again. I thought my hour had been up already, the previous meeting had felt like he had been ages. I look up and see two people I don't expect to see at all.

Mrs. Everdeen and Prim.

Prim sheepishly makes her way over to the couch and sits next to me. I barely know what to say. She seems much tinier to me now that I'm near her for comparison. To think of her going into the arena to try to find, it dawns on me now how incredibly heinous and unjust it would have been to watch her fight had Katniss not had volunteered herself. Mrs. Everdeen takes a seat next to Prim, she holds her hand tenderly in hers and clears her throat. She looks over at me and then back down to Prim.

"We came to say good luck." Prim says softly, tears were prominent in her eyes. "And I wanted to ask a favor. "

When Prim presents the idea of a favor, I'm curious. "What is it?"

Prim looks at me, her eyes nearly the same clear blue as mine, but with the most earnest desperation pitted in her pupils.

"Please, protect Katniss." She says feebly.

A new pang digs itself into my heart as I exhale slowly and take in Prim's simple request. I raise my hand over to tuck a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and nod.

"I'll try my best. For the both of you." I say, looking at her and over at Mrs. Everdeen.

Mrs. Everdeen is starting to stare off vacantly and the longer we sit in the row we are, the more awkward it becomes. Thankfully the doors open, as they rise, Prim turns to me and kisses me on the forehead.

"Thank you Peeta, I'll miss your cakes and your designs they were always the best. I liked to look at them especially when you displayed them on the window." She confessed before turning and being escorted out.

The little girl had actually paid attention to my frosting work? But before my mind can process it all, the doors open again.

How long could an hour possibly take to pass by? My father walks in this time, with a small cloth that has something very aromatic inside. He sits down awkwardly beside me and passes it to me. It's a cheese bun. I smile faintly and wrap it back up intricately.

"Won't you eat it?" He asks.

"Not really hungry." I reply.

We sit next to each other, my eyes casting down on the clothed cheese bun when he clears his throat and says clear as day, "She's a fighter, that one."

I look up at him perplexed until I realize he's talking about Katniss.

"She'll claw her way out from the grave if she has to, especially if it means getting back to that little girl." He noted.

It dawns on me then that my father doesn't have much faith in my return either. It shouldn't bother me as much as I've already come up with the resolution that I will die for Katniss before having to watch her die. Still it's all too much and I've finally hit my breaking point. I break down in front of my father, feeling the tears fly down, hot and desolated.

"Take care of the little girl, give her my portions of food. Keep her fed." I say to him. "Do whatever it takes."

My father looks at me and slings his arm around my shoulder, pulling me close but not daring to hug me any closer than this. I can swear I can hear a strangled cry trying to escape his throat when the doors open once again. I cling onto my father's hand, feeling the same powdery residue of flour still laced on his palms. The smell of the yeast rising is on his clothing and I want nothing more than to keep these scents in my mind for the rest of eternity. I let go finally, and am now blinded by the tears.

I never see my father walk out the door.

Tired and broken at this point, I slump down and draw my legs over to my chest. If I keep this position maybe I'll be able to keep everything together. The door opens once again and I'm hoping it's the Peacekeepers come to whisk me away to the Capitol, but I'm greeted with the voice of one of the Peacekeeper's saying "Last visitor, keep it brief you only have 4 minutes."

Exhausted, I rub at my eyes but my hands are shaking violently. Someone sits next to me and places a hand over my knee.

"You have to protect each other." The voice says.

Quickly I try to restore my vision and can make out the fine cloth of Madge's reaping dress though there was no way she could have been eligible for the reaping as it was. I swallow a lump that forms in my throat and grit my teeth.

"I'll protect her, but that doesn't mean she needs to protect me." I say.

"It's not a death sentence yet Peeta! Fight this time, don't be a pawn." Madge insists as she hands me a fine handkerchief. I'm at a loss as to what to say because it's silky and smooth. On the right hand corner of the piece is an interesting pattern of gold, it almost looks like a ring with an arrow running through the sphere and some bird has perched itself to coexist with it. I've never seen the bird before or anything fine like this up close. I try to hand it back to her but she protests.

"It's a gift." She says simple. She points to the symbol at the end, "Katniss has a pin of this. The mockingjay. It's going to be her symbol for the arena, you don't have to stitch this on to you, but if you both have this, you'll survive together, I know it."

Madge's words seem to mesh in my head in a jumble. Mockingjay? Stitching? Working together?

Did no one understand that the likelihood of Katniss and I surviving to the end was practically impossible?

And even if it got down to that, if Katniss and I were the remaining two, it alarmed me to how quickly my resolution stuck to my mind. I'd let her kill me, just to come home.

I exhale deeply and Madge is already at her feet. "Good luck, Peeta." She says, before walking out of the chamber door.

When the final slam comes and the Peacekeepers tell me to get up, I oblige, taking the handkerchief and folding it, putting it into my right pocket, and stuffing the cheese bun into my left. There are no more goodbyes left to say.

Katniss and I reunite in the lobby of the Justice Building before we're taken into a car to be transported to the train station. A peacekeeper wedges themselves in the middle, she takes the left seat, and I take the right. The ride is short and almost bittersweet, but as the car makes it to the entrance of the station, I see the hoards of cameras flashing in the direction of our car. Now it's time for the show. I figured, but I don't have much of an act to put on. I'm thinking of my parents and how they will conclude they will need to plan a memorial for me. I'm thinking of Puran and Pandoro and how they will fare on having to watch me die. I gnaw at my cheek and the familiar bitter taste comes back. And suddenly I'm overcome again with a jabbing pain to my mind and heart.

Getting out of the car, I cry my way towards the train, not answering or looking at any of the reporters who are begging to gain my attention. I look at Katniss and see the same calm face has crossed her visage. She's trying not to convey any emotion for whatever reason, and I admire her for it in a way. After a few moments of scrutiny in front of the cameras and shouting reporters, the doors to the train finally open, I can feel the wind rush behind me as the door shuts completely the train then takes off.

The motion is fast and I nearly lose my balance, but a Peacekeeper still has a hold of my arm. The train is metallic on the outside very state of art and futuristic and inside it looks like it could be the corridor to a fine and lavish house. The speed it travels is nearly 250 miles per hour, which means we'll make it to the Capitol in less than a day.

Katniss and I are separated again and taken to our own bedroom chambers. It's fancier than the room in the justice building. We have a bed that could fit my entire family on it. The mattress comfortably made of feather and soft mesh. There are wooden dressers filled with clothes that I would never dream of owning in such mint condition, and our own bathroom area with cold and warm water.

The warm water is a blessing I will gladly take. Feeling through my pockets, I feel the cheese bun still wrapped neatly in it's cloth casing, it's a little harder on the edges now. I sigh and place it on the night stand, it'll be my last piece of home. Along with it, I take out Madge's token, the handkerchief and study it closely before mentally preparing myself for what ever it is that'll come. I am now a tribute in the games. I am on a train that is heading towards the Capitol where they will shape and mold us all to get us to utilize skills made for hunting prey, only the prey we will be hunting is each other. I am the male tribute, and I've gotten my wish to protect the female tribute. The girl with the bow and arrow, the girl I…

A knock on the door interrupts my train of thought, opening the door I see Effie with pink curls still slightly lopsided.

"Dinner will be served soon, you may want to change." She chimes in brightly.

I nod and close the door, sighing and going over to the dresser. I wanted to manage to find something that wasn't too flashy, something that would make me still feel like I was myself. Just a bakers son. Luckily I managed to find khaki pants, and a light blue button up. I roll up the sleeves over my forearms and take a look in the mirror. If only they had an apron accessible, I'd feel like I'm ready to go bake bread. I get out of the bed chamber and run into Haymitch who's stumbling around in the corridor.

"Coming to dinner?" I ask him.

"I think I'm gonna take a nap first." He slurs as he passes me, the smell of spirits heavily laced on his breath.

I nod but know it's not a nap he's aiming for, he'll probably drink himself into a deeper stupor. I head over alone to the dining area, still fancy of course, but the tables are aligned with plates and bowls, and utensils I've never even dreamed of owning much less eating out of. Sitting at one of the empty tables I wait for Effie and Katniss and anyone else who will be joining us. Soon enough Effie trots in, Katniss following suit behind her in a green shirt and black pants get up, her braid is redone and she looks somewhat lovely still. I fight back the smile that wants to come out, when Effie looks at the empty seat beside me, puzzled.

"Where's Haymitch?" She asks.  
>I shrug, "Last time I saw him, he said he was going to take a nap." I say.<p>

"Well it has been an exhausting day." She says, perking up more at the idea that Haymitch wouldn't be joining. Maybe it's for the best.

The dishes are rolled out to us in courses. The riches foods ranging from soup, lamb chops, potatoes prepared in a number of different ways, vegetables, cheese, fruit, and even a delectable chocolate cake are presented and served to us. I barely know where to start. Digging into a lamb chop, I take my first bite and pile on piece by piece. I could afford to gain a little weight before getting into the arena. Digging into a bowl of scalloped potatoes, Effie comments on how well mannered Katniss and I are, using utensils rather than eating the food like a bunch of savages. I peer at Katniss, the internal ringing going off in our minds. Of course they ate like savages, if we could bring home this kind of food and serve it to the people of District 12, we'd all be gluttonous until the end of time. I knew how to eat properly because my mother was a mad woman and always imagined us to be higher in class than we actually were, as for Katniss, I assume she was taught by her own mother.

I look over at Katniss and she appears to be glaring daggers at Effie, and with a sly smirk, after finishing up with a lamb chop she swipes her fingers against the fine table cloth, this makes Effie's brilliant smile sucker up into a pout. After the meal is done and we've stuffed ourselves to full capacity, I'm fighting back the urge to vomit. The rich foods don't sit well with my stomach. It's a heavy feeling that sits in my stomach that seemingly turns to stone as soon as it settles and my first instinct is to get it out. But I am determined to keep it down, I need to if I'm going to make progress. I look over at Katniss and her skin tone has turned slightly green, she's holding a hand over her mouth probably going through the same battle.

When our stomachs have settled we're taken into another compartment with Effie to watch a recap of the reapings across Panem. I take a seat and stare intently at the screen, I need to know who we're up against, who will be better to let fend for themselves, and who will be the biggest threat. Naturally the tributes from District 1, 2, and 4 make the top of that list. The rest of the tributes pass in a blur to me, until District 11 comes on, the male being Thresh a surly and bulky looking guy, and the female?

Rue.

I'm astounded when I watch her make her way towards the stage, tiny and fragile. A close up of her face shows that she isn't crying, but the haunting way her eyes are looking out to the crowd stuns everybody. She's Prim's age, and when volunteers are asked for, no one steps up. The last reaping they show is of course District 12's where they have seemingly overdramatized everything. They show Prim's name being called, Katniss stepping up to take her place, Haymitch's display of drunkenness and falling off the stage, my name being called, we shake hands, and then it's over.

I notice they have omitted the bit with the sign everyone in District 12 had made for Katniss when she appeared on stage and I can't figure out why that is until Effie breaks my thought and huffs about the stage of her hair and Haymitch's complete lack of sociable conduct.

"He was drunk Effie, he's always drunk." I say, and can't help but laugh because it's true.

Katniss' joins in on the laugh and smirks, "Everyday." She adds.

Effie narrows her eyes at us and huffs, "Yes well of course you two can find this amusing now, but you do know that your mentor is your life line when you're in the arena. He is the one who advises you, lines up your sponsors, dictates the presentation of your gifts during your time in the Games. Haymitch can and will be the difference in your life and death!"

Katniss and I fall silent, the laughter no longer able to come out, and just then Haymitch stumbles into the compartment, bleary eyed and still drunk as a skunk.

"I miss supper?" he slurs, and with another rocky movement, he vomits over the fine carpeting and falls into his own mess.

"So laugh away." She huffs.

Effie winkles her nose in disgust and carefully jumps over him and his mess out of the compartment, taking a look back at us, as we stare stunned. The look on her eyes is unreadable but I suppose she can tell at this point, things are hopeless for the tributes of District 12.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: I am so sorry for the nearly 3 month hiatus, I'm just not been in the scheme of running this fanfic smoothly. I wanted to push out 3 chapters for you guys in one shot but I couldn't succeed. I will make a promise now to try to stay a little consistent as I morph each chapter into Peeta's POV thank you so much for the support and make sure to review constructively and keep tabs on my whereabouts via tumblr! . com

I'm not sure what to think at first.

Gazing over at Katniss I can tell she's a mixture of repulsed and confused. Checking outside the compartment there's not another worker in sight and Effie has vanished indefinitely. We both edge closer to our fallen mentor. He reeks of spirits and other unpleasant stenches. What makes it worse is he's trying to save himself from lying in the foul residue. Katniss draws her hand up to her mouth, a pale shade of green forming on her cheeks. We glance at each other and simply nod.

Haymitch may be a drunkard, but once we're in the arena he's our only life line once we're inside. I have no other choice but to depend on him.

Together Katniss and I step closer and take one of Haymitch's arms to help the poor man to his feet.

"I tripped?" He slurs, "Smells bad."

Haymitch draws his hand over to his nose, not realizing it's covered in his own vomit. It's times like these I'm thankful for having the mentality to deal with the vomit. Katniss is another story. I can tell she doesn't know what to do and it's possible she's trying to formulate in her mind how to keep herself from upchucking.

"Let's get you back to your room" I chime in, "Clean you up a bit."

At that, Katniss looks over at me weary. Does she think I'd make her do the task along with me? I only need help to carry the drunkard back to his quarters. As we walk out of the compartment half carrying and supporting Haymitch back to his quarters, I swiftly get the door open. Getting inside we notice that the rooms aren't all that different from each other with the grand bed, the dresser, the silken sheets, embroidered bedding. Carefully leading him over to the bath tub, I look at the complex nozzles looking for the one that will only simply turn the water on, keeping him underneath the streaming flow. Katniss has gone to clean her hands from the sink and as she returns I only hold my hand up to her as I keep the man at back to remove sitting up, merely so he doesn't drown.

"It's okay, I'll take it from here." I say simply.

Looking over at her, she seems relieved, not knowing what to say she simply holds our gazes for another moment before replying "All right, I can send one of those Capitol people if you want help?"

Thinking about gaining help from any of the Capitol people leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, I shake my head, "No, I don't want them." I manage to say softly.

Her gray eyes stare at me for a moment, the relief still spreading in her expression and suddenly as I look over to her it's distant. A wall has been put up most likely as a guard, after all weren't we in a fight to the death? She moves her braid back over her shoulder and nods again, not saying a word for any goodbyes turns and leaves. When I hear the door closing completely I'm only greeted by the sound of Haymitch retching in the shower stall.

I give him a few moments to compose himself, hearing a few buttons clicking and relinquishing what ever contents ended up near the drain.

"Good to go?" I ask.

Haymitch only grunts trying to wave me off and slumps towards the opening of the shower. Immediately I get to working on my mentor trying to shape him up into something decent. Stripping him from his clothes and discarding them, a few presses of the buttons and something metallic pops out from the tiles. Heaving him up to stand, the metallic circular objects gently wring around his waist. Haymitch is silent, no slurs, no obscenities, not a word and I'm worried he's really done it this time, drinking himself to death. Until a soft rhythm of snores falls from his mouth, his head is slumped down to his chest, he almost looks eerily peaceful. As I finish the job of cleaning him and the rest of the Capitol's mechanics in the shower, which makes even the most mundane tasks seem trivial, Haymitch is clean and surprisingly still sleeping. Getting him back to the bed is the real bulk of the ordeal and when he's down on the silken sheets and soft bedding the soft purr of his snores gets progressively louder.

"Good night, sir." I muttered under my breath before briskly walking out of his quarters and into my own.

Passing through into my own quarters I strip out of my own clothing for the door and take advantage of the hot water. I want to check on her, make sure she's fine. I want to go back into Haymitch's quarters slap him awake, tell him to lay off the bottle for a few weeks if he can, anything to keep her safe. But to make that talk now as he's still inebriated it'll come to deaf ears. When and if that talk should ever happen I need him somewhat sober, I need him to listen. Staring up at the rivulets of water falling down from the spout, it takes me back to the rainy day where I saw her scavenging for food like a rabid animal. The aftermath of it all and the months that followed were quite silent. Something in Katniss changed and it made me admire her strong will even more. To see her trembling with hunger, doubt, resentment, and fear to transforming into this new found keeper of her household it was like watching a wounded bird grow and rise from an injury. She seemed to be getting healthier. Her usually sullen face now had a ferocity that made those in District 12 know that she was a survivor, though she suffered like the rest she wasn't going down without a fight. Her same shade of black hair would peek through the bakery windows sometimes. She would have an empty satchel with her and a shoddy looking bow, along with a few dull arrows. Taking a closer look she was going over to the woods usually restricted for most to go in, or at least the restriction really was the fear of being eaten or attacked by what ever lay in there. Day after day she went and came back with at first meager portions, presumably game for her family. Then one day, I saw her coming back with another boy. It was strange to see them together at first, he seemed some domineering but soon as days turned into weeks, a smile lit up on her face when I saw them coming back together from the woods. She seemed genuinely happy and in the pit of stomach I felt something churning, jealousy? The days progressed and when I watched from the bakery window, there was something lighter in her step, something lighter in her smile, something lighter in her entire demeanor. The way she looked up and over at that boy who accompanied her in the woods who I would come to know as Gale Hawthorne, it honestly made me jealous. But the more she was with him the more the District buzzed about their game and they had more than and how they would trade with them for such good deals. Which meant more mouths would be fed, including her own and that was the main purpose.. My father even fell prey to it, trading a few cookies or some bread for squirrel (I would never understand his obsession with squirrels even to this day).

The thought of father, the thought of the bakery, my brothers, even my mother, there's a longing that starts in the peak of my mind. As I step out and plant myself into the bed, the lull of the train moving swiftly seems to get me to sleep quickly. The last vision I see is her face smiling with pride.

In the morning, the lights from the windows cascade in, making the darkness from beneath my eyelids shine to an almost translucent orange. It's the morning which means another day is ahead of me, but it also means I'm another day closer to a deadly fate. Making my way to the dining car, I see Haymitch resting clasping his hands together trying to keep his head from smashing against the table. Effie is silently stirring a tiny spoon into a cup of tea, giving him a few small glares and shaking her head. As I make my way to the table, her eyes shine with an exciting.

"Up and at 'em Peeta! And good morning to you." She says with a bit too much enthusiasm to my liking.

I simply nod and mutter back, "And good morning to you too, Effie."

This seems to be enough for her as her smile falters and she goes back to stirring her spoon into her tea. Haymitch grunts and looks over to me, pointing to the kettle in the center of the table.

"Try it. It's hot chocolate, it'll warm you up." He says.

Curiously, I take the kettle and pour it into the cup in front of me, a server has brought over a basket of bread, they look fresh and the steam lines coming from the center makes my mouth salivate. Taking one immediately, I take a feel of the bread, it's soft and warm, no burnt edges anywhere and the aroma is quite intoxicating. Ripping apart the roll, I happily start to settle into eating the bread.

"My, with that much bread, it's no wonder you're so stocky. Must be from all the carbs." Effie chimes in.

Chewing over the rest of the bread, I pick up another roll and think over her statement. "Actually, I don't really particularly care for what goes into bread like you Capitol people do. Bread is home and love to me."

I take another intentionally ravenous bite into the roll, this makes her cringe, I suppose my mannerisms are getting worse for her. Haymitch is chuckling lowly beside me as he takes a look over at Effie.

"What's the matter Trinket? Never gorged yourself on delicacies before?" He says almost bitterly.

The combination of the hot chocolate and the bread is almost too good to be true as I switch from taking a bite and sipping from my cup. It sounds like another mini round of bantering is about to start between Effie and Haymitch so I put my attention into dipping some bread into the hot liquid when the dining car doors slide open. My eyes gaze up to see who's walked in and Katniss enters, her braid a little cleaner and more kempt than yesterday. She looks rested and something about that fact makes a small smile cross my lips. Our eyes lock for a moment and suddenly I'm embarrassed looking down to the table.

"Sit down, sit down!" Haymitch roars, motioning for her to come over.

She makes her way to the table and takes a seat. With the District 12 table full, the servers start to come out with tureens of rich and flavorful food. Fruits, meats, more bread, I can't help but think that if I were able to, taking this home to my family we would be set for months. I watch as she gorges on each platter of food that's set before us. Effie is making remarks on how animal-like it is, Katniss only gives her a terse look and goes back to eating. I stick with the bread and a few eggs here and there. Eventually to cut the awkward tension, I pour a cup of hot chocolate into her cup. She looks perplexed and confused.

"They call it hot chocolate." I say simply. "It's good."

Katniss looks at the cup as if I'm just poured poison in there, but soon enough she takes it and sips at the warm liquid, I can tell she's probably burned her taste buds slightly as she cringes with slight pain but still she manages to finish her cup before going back to eating. Eventually she slows down and stops eating/ I mindlessly work on another bread roll and dip it into the hot chocolate. Haymitch sits beside me drinking cranberry juice and spirits when he adds it from his flask. This fact makes me wary, if it continues it'll be in no time at all that he'll be lost in his drunken haze as usual. Katniss seems to pick up the same thought as she gives him a stern look, folding her arms together as she leans back into her seat. She appears to be studying him like the hunter she is, only Haymitch isn't prey to hunt but something she needs to understand.

"So you're supposed to give us advice." She states bluntly.

Haymitch only smirks and takes another sip of his drink. "Here's some advice, stay alive." He retorts.

Grinding my teeth together, something about the statement makes me snap. Stay alive. Stay alive? When the odds were this numbered, the only thing he could offer up to say was something vague and common? Looking into Katniss' gray eyes I turn back to Haymitch, the venom of my words surprising her and myself.

"That's very funny." I say vehemently before knocking out his glass from his hands, the shatter of the glass hits the floor and the table is stunned. "Only not to us."

Haymitch is silent for a moment looking from the liquid and back at me, that's when his arm comes swinging and I take a blow to the face, sending me out of my chair and onto the floor. It stings and I'm sure it will bruise, the force of it feeling all too familiar to me. I look up however and see that Katniss has taken it upon herself to make a fighting statement as well as she takes a knife and drives it near his hand. Haymitch sits back and stares at us both, as I stand up behind Katniss ready to take him if he decides to hit her as well.

"Well what's this?" He says quizzically. "Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?"

Soon enough I think it's safe to step away from Katniss, he won't harm her, I don't think Haymitch would be that despicable. Grabbing ice from one of the tureens holding fruit, I start to put it to my face when he stops me.

"No, let the bruise show. The audience will think you've mixed it up with another tribute before you've even made it into the arena." He says.

"That's against the rules." I reply incredulously.

"Only if they catch you. That bruise will show you fought. The fact you weren't caught, makes it better. " Haymitch turns his gaze back to Katniss looking at the knife planted in the table. "Can you hit anything with that knife besides a table?"

Katniss looks at him and back to the knife, taking it from where it was planted and stands up to throw it into the wall across the room making a clean targeted hit. She looks just as surprised as Haymitch does as he inspects it and realizes it's in the seam of the wall wedged between two panels. He instructs us both to stand up and he circles around us, prodding at us as if we're test subjects, animals. He checks our make up, squeezing our arms, prodding her stomachs and getting too close to comfort from our faces.

"You're not entirely hopeless. You seem fit. And once your stylists get to you, you'll be attractive enough." He says.

We both can only nod at this fact, though the Games is more so a prowess of strength, sponsors often look for those who a little well off and easier to look at then the dowdy downtrodden tribute.

"I'll make you a deal." He says eyeing us both. "If you don't interfere with my drinking, I will stay sober enough to help you. But you have to do exactly what I say." He warns, looking at Katniss specifically when he says the last sentence.

It's not much, I'm not sure if I can still truly put my life in this man's hands or even guarantee he can help me thoroughly, but I've no other choice.

"Fine." I say finally.

"So help us, when we get to the arena, what's the best strategy at the Cornucopia for someone-" Katniss rambles off.

Haymitch holds up a hand to silence her. "One thing at a time. In a few minutes, we'll be pulling into the station. You'll be meeting your stylists and you probably won't like what they're going to do but you mustn't resist."

"But-" She tries to assert more words but he cuts her off.

"No buts, don't resist. " He says with a finality giving us one more sweeping look before grabbing a bottle and rushing out of the dining car.

As the door closes the lights dim out slightly. I take a look towards the window and realize it must be night time as flashes of small lights start to pass as we make it under the last tunnel. We're here. Katniss and I rush to the window to see what we've read about in the history books, seen occasionally on the television. The Capitol. The mountains of Appalachia cut off the Districts from this place and to say the least it's like entering a whole new planet let alone a new place. The train beings to slow and a blinding light starts to pour into the window as we make it into the station. The ruling city of Panem doesn't rest apparently as their new batch of tributes has finally made it to them to be plucked and primed the way they find suitable. The technology growing more bizarre than the last as cameras snake through, flashing lights already begins as reporters try to flock to different windows trying to see who they can manage to catch first. It's almost as if getting any coverage on us is a game to them and I'm only a piece of what sets them up. The thought of that makes me ill but I know I have to bear it if we're ever going to give this a shot. I muster up the courage to smile back, feeling my face hurt at how wide the smile has set itself as I wave back. I stop when they're out of sight as we pull closer into a different station, I feel a set of eyes burning a hole into my skin, turning my gaze to be met with Katniss' gray eyes, I shrug.

"Who knows, one of them may be rich." I say evenly.

Something about the statement alarms her as far as I can tell. She steps away slowly and I've become the subject for her to study. I only nod at her as I make my way towards the doors to get out. We'll need the sponsors, we'll have to be as charming as anything, especially if I want to succeed in getting her out and alive as the victor.


End file.
